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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151082">When A Man Is Pushed Too Far</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Saltman/pseuds/The_Saltman'>The_Saltman</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Life and Times of Lincoln E. Briggs [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Dialtown: Phone Dating Sim (Visual Novel)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood and Gore, Death, Gore, Physical Abuse, Self-Defense, Verbal Abuse</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-28</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 12:01:30</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Graphic Depictions Of Violence</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>849</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26151082</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/The_Saltman/pseuds/The_Saltman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>The first installment of a series of tales from the perspective of an old DSaF OC, turned Dialtown OC.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>The Life and Times of Lincoln E. Briggs [1]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1899028</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>When A Man Is Pushed Too Far</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Some basics about Lincoln: He is half Chinese, half white (he was heavily bullied for this due to the time and place in which he grew up), as an adult, he stands at 6'3''. Once the Dialup began, he insisted on having a large plastic Lego minifigure head place over his own. But, this story takes place long before the Dialup. Lincoln Elanor Briggs, is in fact, not his birth name.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>My name is Lincoln E. Briggs, this is not my birth name, I abandoned that name long ago, out of shame and necessity. The following will be a collection of ramblings about various points and events throughout my life. Without further ado, let us get into my fantastic tales.</p>
<p>It was a cold Autumn evening, the year was 1940, if my memory is not deceiving me. For the majority of my life, I had been raised by my father and the various whores he would bring home every weekend (when I say whores I do not mean only women, my father was a curious man, like myself). My father was not a good man to begin with, his alcoholism bringing out his cruel nature and horribly exaggerating it to the point of which he would often act abusive, both verbally and physically. This day was the day I finally fully snapped at him, the day my patience had completely run dry, the day I put an end to the bastard's miserable existence. I sat in my room, listening to the radio for news on the war, I truly wished to join in, to help show those Nazi bastards what's what, but alas, my father refused to let me, claiming it to be a pointless war. I heard the distinctive sound of my father drunkenly opening the front door and shuffling in, the sound of him crashing into the wall and cursing at God, the sound of him making his way up the stairs and to my door. He beat on the door, demanding me to open it, demanding I ''stop listening to that pointless shit and do something productive with your pathetic life''.</p>
<p>I was in no mood for him to shout, to strike me, to tell me it was my fault mother had died, to call me a worthless excuse for a son and tell me all the ways I could improve, spewing out his absurdly high and near unachievable expectations. I pleaded with him, asking him to drink water and rest, but to no avail, he beat and beat on my door until finally, it burst, slamming to my floor with a loud thud. My eye twitched as I prepared to shield myself, prepared to hold back tears and say anything  I could to satisfy him, but something happened. <br/>He grabbed my radio, slamming it to the floor, the speech distorting and ceasing as he repeatedly stomped on it with his boot. I glared at him, pure rage and hatred visible within my brown eyes, my entire face filled with nothing but hatred and rage towards this pathetic shell of a man. </p>
<p>"THAT WAS THE ONLY THING OF MOTHER'S I HAD LEFT, YOU BARBARIC ASSHOLE!" I yelled, standing up, I felt something different, something was changing inside of me, I had bottled these feelings up for far too long. I was about to snap, if he pushed me any further, I was going to do something he would regret.</p>
<p>"Shut the fuck up, you worthless excuse for a son! Maybe if it weren't for your ass bein' born, she'd still be livin'!" His speech had devolved, this was clearly evident in his drunken ravings. He was also clearly trying to anger and upset me, he wanted to see my reaction, wanted something to distract himself from how much of a failure he was, so he was projecting onto me in some ways.</p>
<p>I did not wish to attack him, so I pleaded with him, suggested we both take time to cool off alone, as to avoid further conflict. Needless to say, he did not take kindly to logic and reasoning, one action leading to another. I am unsure of what exactly happened, however, I remember being in immense pain, clutching my stomach, and looking around the room for something as he glared down at me, preparing to strike again. I remember grabbing my bedside lamp, I remember swinging it, likely with far too much force, and far too many times. I remember red, so much red, everywhere, red on the bed, red on my hands, on the floor, even in my head. Father was no longer moving, say for an occasional twitch and a mix of blood cerebrospinal fluid bubbling from his head and hitting the floor.</p>
<p>I looked around my room, my eyes eventually landing on an Uncle Sam poster I had snagged from somewhere. There' at the top, in big blue bold lettering, read the words "I WANT YOU," the "YOU" being underlined in red, below was an illustration of Uncle Sam pointing. Below him, in smaller red lettering, and in a different font, were the words "for the," beside them, in red, were the words "U.S. ARMY," written in the original font. Below these words, in the original big blue bold lettering, were the words "ENLIST NOW." I knew what I had to do, what I wanted to do, so I did it, abandoning my old name and taking on a new identity as I made my way to the nearest recruiting station.</p>
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